


A Story Of Monsters And Men

by MabFaerie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MabFaerie/pseuds/MabFaerie
Summary: Origins of a young circle mage, the events prior to her time at the circle, the notable moments within the circle, and a brief period of time following the Kirkwall Rebellion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a few paragraphs worth of backstory for an Original Character in an RP.  
> It kinda exploded into a short-fic. I'm so sorry.

“You can't do this!” A grief-stricken voice pleaded, followed by quiet sobbing that carried through the meager cottage, echoed through thin walls, reverberating in the tiny attic space that passed as a bedroom.  
Loud footsteps clamoured their way upstairs as a small redheaded girl squeezed her eyes shut tight and pretended to be asleep. She could feel a gaze fall upon her frame, watching the way her chest rose and fell with steady breaths. She'd grown very accustomed to pretending to be asleep and then dragging wearily through the day on nearly no rest at all.  
Many of those such sleepless nights were spent pretending that this was happening to someone else. That _she_ was someone else. That this was just a chapter in another girl's life, in another land, far, far away from her own.  
It was easier, that way. Watching from the outside, a spectator viewing the world through the safety of a lens.  
The creaking of wood beneath heavy footfalls made the small girl shift, as if in a dream, turning on her side to face the source of conversation.  
“This is _your_ fault. There were no Mages in my family!” One voice hissed sharply, a whisper that carried across the room like a scream, it was obvious by now that this voice did not fear being heard.  
“We can send her to a Circle. She'll be safe there.” The sobbing stopped and the pleading resumed.  
“You think I want people knowing that someone like her, some _thing_ like her came from _our_ family? You think I want her carrying _my_ name?!”  
“But at the Circle, none of that will matter. She'll be--”  
“You expect me to believe that? People will talk, everyone always _talks_. I can ignore this no longer! If I don't put an end to this now, then when?”  
“She's our daughter, you can't just--”  
“A Mage is no daughter of mine.” The voice that had seemed angry before was empty now, as if all the emotion had fled its owner's body in a manner of seconds.  
The footsteps grew louder, one set approaching the not-quite-sleeping girl.  
With her eyes closed in feigned sleep, she couldn't see who it was, but she could sense them. She could feel their shallow breath hot across her skin as they stood over her for an eerily long moment, without saying a word.  
From across the room, the feminine voice pleaded one last time.  
“Please...”  
The other voice did not reply. Instead, a hand reached out, wrenching the small girl up from her false-sleep until she toppled forward, caught in an iron-clad grip.  
Her eyes shot open, no use feigning ignorance now, not that it would help her any. There was no point in even bothering to speak, she knew enough to believe that the ending to this story had already been decided. The man before her would not be swayed.  
“Follow.” He hissed, dragging her along by the forearm, paying her no mind as she half-fell down the stairs behind him. A soft whimper escaped her throat as he swung the front door open and pulled her along behind him into the night, bare feet scraping against crushed leaves, jagged rocks and stray branches.  
Without looking back, the angry man dredged forward, nails digging into the small girl's arm so deeply that the skin broke and began to bleed. Trees and moonlight were all that awaited them ahead; the forest had many paths, but they didn't seem to be following any of them.  
She tried to turn her head to glance at what was supposed to be her home, spotting a familiar figure in a crumpled heap, doubled over by the doorway. The redheaded girl wanted to call out to the woman, she wanted to tell her not to cry anymore or that she loved her or that she was sorry. She wanted to promise to see her again.  
But she didn't say of those things, for fear the man dragging her might turn back around and take revenge on the both of them.  
By the time she knew what she would have liked to say, she'd already been dragged so far away from the paths that even her screams wouldn't find their way back in the wind.  
She wasn't sure how long they traveled or how deep into the forests he dragged her. All she knew was that her feet were blistered, scraped and bleeding by the time they came to a still and she was quietly crying as he drew a slim dagger from the sheath on his belt. Aislin watched in horror as the blade glinted in the pale moonlight, patches of light streaming in from the space between the tree tops.  
Frightened eyes peered up at the man that loomed over her, his expression spoke of equal parts disgust and fury.  
“Papa?” As she dared to speak, breaking the illusion of a story playing out for someone else, a hand fell down across her cheek, knocking her to the ground. Her ears began to ring and she could almost hear the muffled sound of her own cries as she scrambled to her knees. The empty look in his eyes as he watched her try to stand was cold enough to make even her shiver in fear, and she was quite used to this kind of behavior.  
“My daughter is dead.” He announced, his voice devoid of nearly every emotion save for spite.  
Faster than her eyes could follow, the dagger sped forward. She raised her hands to protect herself but only ended up having them sliced in the process. She cried out but the noise cut off as the dagger plunged into her chest.  
In the darkness, she stumbled, away from him, away from the blade as it withdrew, blood dripping down its length. Her blood. Everywhere.  
The ground rushed up to greet her and the breath escaped her lungs as the world went dim. She watched as her father wiped his blade on the front of his pants and sheathed it once more. He looked at her for a long moment before he turned and began to walk away.  
When she blinked, he was gone.  
She blinked again and felt as if she was falling.  
She blinked once more and then the world went dark.

* * *

 

From somewhere far away, a dog whined.  
Her eyelids fluttered open as a hound sniffed her cheek, barking loudly as leaves crunched beneath heavy feet. A pair of boots stopped near her head and knelt down. She was eye level with a set of knees now. It was hard to see past the figure that knelt before her, but the faintest bits of sunlight pouring through the trees told her that dawn had come.  
A voice called out to her from what felt like miles away, male, one she'd never heard before, followed by a concerned touch to her shoulder.  
“Hey… Hey, Kid! Wake up. Come on--Wake up! Maker's breath, what happened to you?”  
“Is she… alive?” A second voice rang out behind that one, another man, another stranger. His boots stopped a little ways away from the other man, the tip of a crossbow dangled in his offhand, swinging lazily, entering her field of vision and leaving it again, back and forth in a rhythm her eyes seemed intent on following.  
“Just barely holding on, from the looks of it. How is she still breathing? We need to get her help!” The first man was careful as he lifted the small girl in his arms, as if she weighed nothing at all. She sputtered and coughed up blood onto his vest by way of thanks.  
“What kind of monster leaves a child for dead in the middle of the forest?” The second voice asked, his words filled with anguish and horror.  
“A bastard if I ever knew one.” The first man growled, clutching the small girl close as he made the long trek back home. He didn't know what had happened, but as far as he was concerned, children didn't die on his watch. The redheaded girl wanted to thank him for his kindness, but the darkness came to greet her once more and words seemed far away again.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time she opened her eyes, the sky was neither dark nor bright. In fact, there was no sky at all. Instead, her view was that of an unfamiliar wooden ceiling.  
This wasn't home, but it wasn't the middle of the woods either. She wasn't sure what to make of it just yet.  
Wincing as she tried to sit upright, the small girl cried out. The sound of her own voice surrounded her, neither muffled nor distant, at least her hearing had returned to normal.  
Her wounds had other plans, however. A glance at her chest and hands revealed blood-soaked bandages. Someone had gone to the trouble of patching her up, though it seemed recovery was a far-off concept.  
“You've come round. That's a relief.” A kindly old woman that the girl didn't recognize looked up from a mortar and pestle she'd been tending to.  
“I'm afraid you're not doing so well, love, but you're awake and that's a start. You can call me Nan. What's your name?” The old woman spoke softly, setting her work aside and shuffling into a seat across from the wounded girl.  
“...Aislin.” She answered, her throat raw and parched, as if she hadn't had a drink of water in weeks.  
“A pretty name for a pretty girl. How are you feeling?” Nan asked, though her sad eyes already knew the answer.  
“Cold.” Aislin murmured, struggling for breath with every word she spoke.  
“I can imagine. That wound isn't looking too good. I've done my best to treat it, but I think we'll need something stronger.” Nan murmured, half speaking to herself. It seemed that she didn't want to ask what happened. Perhaps she believed there was no use in making Aislin relive the memory if it could be avoided. Sometimes it was better to treat a wound without asking where it came from.  
Familiar footsteps sounded from another room and in emerged the man from before, the one who'd carried her here, wherever here happened to be.  
  
“I thought I heard voices. Good to see you awake.”  
“You saved me.” Aislin was awestruck. If not for him, she'd be with the Maker now. If that's where cursed people went, at all.  
“Something like that. I did what I could, the rest is up to you. With a little help from my lovely wife, of course.” He grinned at Nan who scowled at him in return.  
“Don't you 'lovely wife' me. She needs a stronger medicine and I need fresh elfroot for it! Mine's all wilted!” She pointed at a potted plant that looked worse than Aislin felt, before continuing on her rant.  
“I asked you to get me some this morning, just like I asked you to get me some last week! You came home empty handed then too. How hard is it to pick a bit of herb when it grows through the wood like weeds? I'm hardly asking for much!”  
“I was a LITTLE BUSY today! What with saving a child's life and all.” He interjected but Nan was having none of it.  
“Well a good lot that's going to do without the herbs to treat her. Which we'd have, if you'd picked them _last week_ when I ASKED YOU TO.”  
“Oh if it wasn't for her, you wouldn't even need your blasted herbs! Don't act like they were so important before now--Maker, who abandons a child for dead?!” The man growled back, his off-topic outburst implying that he was far more angry at the circumstances than his wife. He continued bickering nonetheless, paying little mind to the small girl reaching out to touch the wilted plant.  
“Not so important, are they?! Why don't you tell that to her?” Nan snapped, pointing a finger in Aislin's direction, immediately doing a double-take as both husband and wife glanced her way.

Reaching out towards the dying plant, the small girl brushed her hand over its wilted leaves. In an instant, the weak plant flourished back to half-life beneath her fingertips, leaving the small girl sputtering and coughing, hacking up blood all over herself.  
The old man exhaled sharply at the sight, more concerned by the flourishing plant than the waning girl.  
“Well there you have your answer.” The woman hissed, hurrying over to trim a few leaves off of the small plant before taking them to her work station to crush beneath her pestle. The man took off his hat and slumped down in a chair opposite Aislin, looking at her with a pained expression.  
“You're a Mage.” He whispered, knowing the answer already.  
“That's what Papa called me.” Aislin replied, weakly, wondering if her curse would make this couple hate her too.  
  
He was silent for a long moment, as if in deep thought. When he spoke, it was soft and resigned, perhaps with the faintest hint of regret that Aislin couldn't quite understand the source of.  
“We'll call the Templars. They'll take you to a Circle. You'll be safe there. No one will hurt you anymore.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was her.  
“You can't call the Templars. She can't be moved in her condition!” Nan protested from over her work station.  
“She was moved in order to bring her here. They can move her to a Circle. Besides, you want to be the one to tell the neighbors we're harbouring an apostate?”  
“Apost—oh honestly! She's a _little girl_ not some demon in disguise.” Nan stopped what she was doing and walked out of the room, gesturing for her husband to follow.  
Aislin, who was used to listening through thin walls didn't need to strain herself to hear what was said next.  
“You don't know that for sure!” He hissed, his voice soft but insistent.  
“You call those Templars now and you're as bad as the man who plunged a knife in her chest. Thank the Maker it missed her heart. Now unless you've lost yours, you'll give the girl a few days to recover.” Nan scolded his thoughtless words, causing her husband to sigh and soften his tone.  
“By the time the Templars get here, it will have been a few days, love.”  
  
Nan said nothing as she reemerged from the other room, a scowl on her face as she collected her mortar and added a few other ingredients that Aislin couldn't see. In an instant, she'd returned to the girl's bedside with a bowl full of a murky-looking paste of crushed herbs and Maker knows what else.  
“Do what you must. I'll see to the child.” She sent him off with a wave of her hand, before turning her attention to the trembling child that lingered on death's doorstep.  
Carefully unwinding the bandages, Nan applying the salve to the girl's open wounds, both on her chest and hands, watching as Aislin shivered and whimpered in pain with every little touch.  
“I'm sorry.” Nan looked exceedingly distraught as she re-bandaged the wounds, silently praying for a speedy recovery.  
“Try and rest, if you can. You'll heal faster that way.” Nan encouraged her to sleep, while worrying the pain would keep her awake.  
  
In the days that followed, Aislin's sleep was restless and wrought with nightmares. The blade, her father's cold stare, the blood, her mother's sobbing. She lingered somewhere between sleep and wake as a fever raged through her body. She was fighting an infection but only barely. Each breath was weaker than the last and Nan was struggling to fight what seemed like a losing battle. Every salve she applied, every potion Aislin drank, every prayer Nan uttered felt like it did nothing but delay the inevitable.  
Finally, there was a knock at the door.  
  
“Love, they're here.” Her husband announced, rising from his seat to answer the door.  
“Already? That's impossible! Send them away!” Nan pleaded, almost instantly, gripping his sleeve to hold him back.  
“Love--” he began, but Nan cut in, her voice breaking with grief.  
“She'll die if they take her now. She's too weak to travel. She can barely move!”  
“They can help her at the Circle, love. They'll have a lot more supplies to spare. They won't let an innocent child die. She'll be safe. there” Her husband promised, with a reassuring squeeze of his wife's hand, before stepping aside and allowing a few heavily armoured men to enter the tiny cottage.  
  
Aislin's vision swam. How many men were standing there? Was it one? Or three?  
“This is the girl? Maker preserve us, do you know what happened to her?” A worried voice rang out, sounding younger than the couple she'd grown accustomed to listening to over the past few days.  
“It's not clear. I suspect it may have been her family. She mentioned a father at one point.” The husband replied, watching as the Templars took great care to slowly ease the girl onto a small elevated cot and strap her in place to keep her from jostling too much during their departure.  
  
“Don't worry. She won't be on the road long. We've already received clearance to take her to the nearest Circle and her condition granted us access to a carriage and the fastest horses we could spare.” The Templar in charge explained, which was likely the reason why they'd shown up sooner than Nan had anticipated.  
“Kirkwall's Circle is only half a day out on horseback, even at a steady pace.” The husband seemed to approve of his plan, casting his wife a worried glance and hoping it reassured her too.  
“If she can last until tomorrow morning, the healers at the Circle will know what to do.” The Templar sounded confident but Nan seemed positively inconsolable.  
“Oh, you can't take her to Kirkwall. You can't.” Nan cried, as if she knew something her husband didn't.  
“Love, any other Circle is days away, if not longer. It's Kirkwall or she dies here.” Her husband didn't understand his wife's grief, but he knew that if the girl didn't get the help she needed, she'd wouldn't survive and all would be for naught.  
“Go on, she doesn't have much time. And thank you for coming so quickly.” Nan and her husband saw the Templars out, watching as they hoisted Aislin into the carriage and set off down the road, leaving the couple to grieve for the unknown.


	3. Chapter 3

The time it took between leaving Nan's house and arriving at the Circle felt like ages, but realistically was probably only a few hours. Aislin wasn't sure whether the wind had grown colder, or if it was just her, but she trembled as if she were encased in ice the whole way.  
The sky had gone black, save for the stars, as the horses came to a standstill outside what Aislin could only assume was the 'Circle' everyone had been talking about. To her, it looked like an impenetrable war fortress or perhaps the Wicked Queen's Castle from out of a fairy tale.  
The Templars that had accompanied her lowered the cot from the carriage into the arms of another pair of Templars.  
So many men and women in full suits of armour, they all looked as if they were headed to war, yet carried themselves with such an air of calm that one might think they were simply out for a stroll.  
Aislin's cot passed hands a few times. Between soft murmurings of confirmation, shuffling of papers, a wary glance her way once or twice, she somehow found herself shifted from the cot to a very comfortable bed where at last, she found a kind young face smiling down at her.  
“It seems you've been through some very interesting events, my child. But do not be afraid. Wherever you go, the Maker walks with you.” This woman seemed very nice, chattering away in a soft voice as she mixed up a small potion in a vial. It reminded Aislin of Nan. It was a comforting comparison.

“I'm a Sister with the Chantry here in Kirkwall. I was told your name is Aislin. Am I saying that right?” Her accent muddled the pronunciation a little, but for the most part, it was accurate. Aislin nodded her agreement, watching her careful fingers measure out ingredients and add them to the vial one drop at a time.  
“Are you familiar with the Chant of Light?” She asked as she offered the vial to Aislin and encouraged her to drink by holding it to her lips.  
Aislin swallowed the bitter liquid and immediately coughed, hacking up a bit of blood and remnants of the multi-coloured potion she'd been given.  
“It isn't very good going down, I admit, but if I had warned you, I feared you would not drink it.” The Sister confessed by way of apology. Aislin didn't say anything, as she wasn't entirely sure what to make of her situation yet.  
Taking her silence as encouragement, the Sister began to murmur in prayer as she saw to Aislin's wounds, paying almost no mind at all as a black-haired woman entered the room and sat down opposite the Chantry Sister, her gaze flickering calmly between the two of them, as if patiently waiting her turn for something.

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light. And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.” The Sister smiled warmly at Aislin, who looked on in slight confusion before offering a pained smile out of courtesy.  
“Am I… dying?” She asked, glancing to the two women while wondering whether this was a unique event or a common type of greeting among 'Circle' people.  
The second woman laughed softly, rather amused by Aislin's words.  
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” The black-haired woman reassured the small girl before before moving closer and resting her her hands atop Aislin's damaged ones.  
Carefully, she began to undo the bandages around Aislin's hand, inspecting the cuts for a moment before wrapping them once more. She did the same to the dressings covering Aislin's chest and made no effort to hide the sudden look of disturbance brought on by the sight of the injury.

After closing the wraps once more, the woman rested her hands over Aislin's again. In an instant, a warm sensation flooded Aislin's palm, starting with her fingertips and working its way upwards. The warmth radiated along her wrists, over her elbows and up her arms before it spread outwards, resonating through her chest, down her legs, up her neck, over her face. Everything from the soles of her feet to the top of her head felt warm, safe and comfortable.  
“Neat, isn't it?” She asked with another pleased laugh, trying to make light of a grim situation as best she could.  
When the laughing woman pulled her hands away, Aislin realized the pain in her chest was nearly gone. Her hands tingled and felt somewhat numb, but the wounds had begun to close on their own, mending at an astonishing rate. It was as if this woman had done to Aislin what she'd done to the plant at Nan's house.

“Is this magic?” Aislin exhaled on a whisper, amazed that it could be used in such a way and delighted at her own improved recovery.  
“A form of it, yes. And when you're well enough, I should be happy to teach you. Don't get too excited though. You have a lot of healing to do before that day comes.”  
Aislin seemed surprised by these words. Was magic only a temporary solvent? Would it not heal her completely?  
As if sensing her concern, the Mage continued her explanation,  
“My magic should help close your wounds throughout the night but any kind of exertion will put you at risk for ripping them open again. Besides, I may have mended your lesions, but you still have an infection to fight off.”  
“Do you think she will be scarred?” The Chantry Sister asked, glancing at the blood-stained banages wrapped taut over Aislin's chest and hands.  
“Her hands will heal. The wounds there were not so deep. Her chest is… another matter entirely. I am sad to say that it is quite likely she will carry that scar for the remainder of her natural life. Still, the Maker works in mysterious ways, perhaps this too will heal.”  
Aislin expected that this was supposed to be sad news, but she didn't feel sad. In that moment, she didn't really feel anything. Which, all things considered, was a vast improvement over the extreme pain she'd been feeling before.  
“Remember what I told you. No exertion. Your wounds will reopen and I'll be very grumpy having to wake up in the middle of the night to heal you a second time. _Very grumpy!_ ” She stressed the last part, it seemed to be the subtle implication that she'd been roused from a decent night's sleep to aid the young girl in the first place.  
The pleasant Mage headed towards the door just as quickly as she'd arrived, obviously eager to get back to bed.  
“I need to get some sleep, Sister. Please feel free to call on me if she does not improve by morning.”  
“Thank you, my dear” The Chantry Sister smiled as the black-haired Mage bowed politely before disappearing around a corner out of sight.

“She's right, you know. The mixture I gave you will help with the infection, but it won't be as effective if you aren't resting. I know you're probably anxious and have a lot of questions, but I think sleep would be a better choice tonight. If you have one or two simple query's, I may be able to answer, but no more than that, as you really should be sleeping now.”  
Before Aislin's tired mind could even think of any question worth asking, a figure in armor stepped into the room.  
“We've orders to retrieve the girl for her Phylactery.” He reported, apparently disinterested in the fragile-looking creature attempting to recover from a near-death experience.  
“She's in no condition to be moved. Our healer can confirm that, though I can't be held responsible if she's displeased with being woken up in order to do so.” The Chantry Sister chuckled pleasantly but the man in armor didn't even smile.  
“The rules must be followed, Sister.” he protested rather stiffly, his gaze flickering between the small girl and calm Chantry member sitting beside her, seeming uncertain as to whether he held enough rank to be having this conversation right now.  
“And they will be! In a few days time, when we can be certain taking blood from the girl isn't going to kill her.”  
“It… isn't my decision, Sister.” he pleaded, a silent 'don't shoot the messenger' look on his face.  
“Send me your Superior then, I'll plead my case.” The armoured figured rushed off and the Chantry Sister left the room. Her shadow lingered in the doorway, followed quickly enough by a second one.  
For once, an exchange of words was soft enough that even Aislin's sensitive ears couldn't quite pick it up. It was only the latter end that she caught, as it rose in volume slightly from whatever had preceded it.

“Very well. But if anything happens, it is on your hands. I am holding you personally responsible, Sister.”  
“Oh, for the love of the Maker, keep a guard posted at her door if you're so frightened of a little girl struggling just to live.”  
The conversation turned soft once more and before Aislin could make anything else out, it was over with, the Sister had returned to her bedside almost instantly.  
“Is someone angry with you?” Aislin dared to ask, wondering if she was the source of trouble for yet another kind woman.  
“No, no, my dear girl, don't you worry. Someone is very fond of rules and I'm far too old to let children bark orders at me now.” The Sister replied but her answer only puzzled Aislin further.  
  
“Pardon me, Sister?” A blonde haired man poked his head in the door, casting a gaze first at the kindly Chantry worker and then curiously at the tiny redheaded girl in bed.  
“Rutherford?” The Sister chuckled in surprise and shook her head as her laughter faded into a quiet sigh. “I don't know why I'm surprised to see you.”  
“I've orders to keep watch here tonight. There's… an apostate...apparently?” He looked to the small girl with an almost bemused expression.  
“Very well. _Watch the apostate_.” The Sister raised her hands as if to say 'What can you do?' and stood up from her seat.  
“Rutherford, this is Aislin. Aislin, this is Rutherford. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I think I will resign myself to sleep. Rutherford will keep you company while I'm gone.” She brushed a wispy strand of hair out of Aislin's eyes and patted her head once before heading towards the door.  
“She's just a child.” Her tone exasperated, the Sister shook her head at the blonde man and he shrugged his shoulders in response, a silent conversation exchanged between them that Aislin could only try and make sense of in her weary state.  
The blonde man, Rutherford, watched the Chantry Sister leave before turning back to glance at Aislin with mild curiosity. She wondered if he was going to talk with her, but after staring for a moment, he simply turned and stationed himself against the doorway, facing down the hall, so that he could both see in and out of her room simultaneously.  
  
“Rutherford is a silly name for a Knight.” She mumbled to herself, just loud enough that he'd still hear it.  
“Pardon?” He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the small girl with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.  
“Your name. It's a silly name for a Knight.” She repeated herself, her tone soft and casual, as if she was discussing the weather.  
“It's my surname, actually. And I'm not a Knight.” He insisted, sounding more amused than annoyed.  
“You wear armor and you live in a Castle. That's a Knight if I ever knew one. A Knight with a terrible name—Y'know, I think that would make a good story-book title.” Aislin replied, matter-of-factly, nodding with herself in agreement.  
“Are you going to write a story about a Knight named Rutherford, then?” He smiled, playing along with her game for the moment.  
“No. Of course not!” She looked at him, feigning shock that he didn't quite understand the source of, before she quickly added,  
“Because Rutherford is a terrible name for a Knight.”  
The blonde man shook his head and chuckled despite himself, hastily faking a cough to hide the sound before turning his attention back to the hall and away from the redhead sprite of a girl.  
  
Aislin closed her eyes for a while and tried to sleep, drifting in and out for some time, but ultimately finding herself awake once more. Her mind just didn't seem keen on resting yet. Perhaps it was due to the peculiar aire of this place.  
For a fortress that had looked so large and looming from the outside, it seemed eerily quiet now. All she could hear apart from her own breathing was the subtle scratch of Rutherford's armor against the wall he leaned on as he shifted in place.  
Even for the middle of the night, the silence was odd, she'd half-expected to see at least one or two people bustling past her doorway down the halls for one reason or another. Was everyone in the Circle asleep save for her and the blonde knight? That seemed… lonely.  
  
Deciding that she'd rather keep Rutherford company than struggle with a sleep that wouldn't come, she spoke up again, “What's your real name?”  
“Hmm?” He glanced at her, as if he was uncertain of what her question was getting at, before he cautiously replied, “You think Rutherford is made up?”  
“No, but you said it was your surname. What's your given name?” She was surprised to see him look away from her then, glancing almost hesitantly down the hall in either direction before exhaling softly.  
“Cullen.” He answered before stepping inside her room and shutting the door behind him.  
“However, Mages are not allowed to call Templars by their first name, per Meredith's order. She thinks it will ' _breed familiarity_ '. As if living with one another 24 hours a day doesn't.” He sighed at the last part, running a hand through his hair a moment, knowing what he said would hardly make an ounce of sense to Aislin.  
“I like Cullen better than Rutherford.” She protested, not understanding the 'order' he was muttering about or who 'Meredith' even was, let alone why she was giving 'orders' in the first place.  
“You won't like the trouble it'll bring us if she hears that.” He cautioned her, his gaze quite serious. Aislin didn't understand but he seemed deeply troubled by whoever this Meredith was.  
  
Maybe Meredith was like Papa…? Someone who was supposed to be kind, but was secretly cruel instead? She wondered if even brave, towering men in armor had people they'd run from in the dead of night… She wondered if someone like Cullen might also have nightmares of dark forests, blood and daggers, empty eyes... things they'd never dare speak of aloud.  
“Are you afraid of her? Afraid of what she might do to you?” Aislin softly inquired, her thoughts flickering back to the memory of her father's empty eyes and the glint of the blade in the pale moonlight.  
“On the contrary, I'm afraid of what she might do to you.” Cullen replied, leaving Aislin with more questions than answers.  
“To any Mage, really.” He added as a quiet afterthought, with an expression that was difficult for Aislin to read.  
“Would she hurt me?” Aislin asked, wondering if there was a worse pain than the wound she was recovering from now.  
The pause that followed was long enough for Aislin to believe he would not answer; Yet just before she could change the subject, he spoke.  
“If it was necessary.”  
  
Aislin didn't understand that kind of phrasing. Why would hurting someone ever be necessary? Would Meredith think that what Papa did was necessary?  
“Why do you follow orders of someone who hurts people?” Aislin blurted without thinking, struggling to sit upright in her bed, wincing with the pain of the effort, but wanting Cullen to see how serious she truly was.  
“You misunderstand, Mages aren't--” He stopped short. Deciding against his original train of thought and beginning to rephrase.  
“It's… complicated. Much more complicated than I could explain in a single evening. Nothing is ever truly black and white. She's protecting a lot of people. You'll understand someday, when you're older.” Approaching her bed, he rested one hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push,  
“Lay back down now, Aislin. There's no use in getting so upset. Save your strength for enemies you've actually met.”  
Aislin nodded and settled back into place, blinking a few times as sleep started to pull at her. She watched him take a seat far away from her, next to the door, dutifully keeping guard as per his orders.  
  
“Cullen?” She called out to him softly, causing him to sigh in mild-annoyance.  
“I'm going to regret having told you my name, aren't I?” He muttered by way of response.  
“You really are a Knight, you know. Even your Castle has a Wicked Queen.” She murmured, feeling herself losing the battle with consciousness.  
“This isn't a fairytale, Aislin.” He insisted, his tone firm yet soft. If he could get her to sleep, she'd heal much faster.  
“But I... like fairytales...” She quietly protested, blinking her eyes slowly now, as she started to doze off once more.  
Cullen stood, eyeing the small lantern that rested atop her bedside table, casting the room in a bright, warm glow. Stealthily approaching the device as quietly as he could manage, Cullen soon realized that his clunky armor was clearly not designed with stealth in mind, as his 'quietest' movements were still loud enough that one might assume they were intentional.  
Noticing his shuffling, the redheaded girl peeked at him through half-closed lids.  
  
“There's far too much light in here for you to get a decent night's sleep.” Cullen explained, as he reached towards the lantern to turn it off. Before he could even touch it, Aislin shook her head in fear, eyes widening with an unseen terror.  
The darkness of the forest. The glint of the blade in the moonlight. The blood. So much blood. Falling. _Falling_.  
“No! Don't turn it off!” She pleaded, panic gripping her chest tight enough that she felt her wounds begin to ache once more. She bolted upright, as if she intended to stop him somehow. As if the tiny thing could have even posed a threat to someone in his position. The fading light inside the lantern flared up wildly as she gestured her outstretched fingers towards it in a panic.  
“It's alright. I won't put it out. Lay back down.” He instructed her softly, as he turned the knob on the lantern until it's flame was slightly dimmer than before, but still provided the room with a decent amount of light.  
Aislin returned to her prior position but watched Cullen's movements with an anxious gaze.  
“You're afraid of the dark?” He asked as he sat down in a chair beside the door, gazing at the tiny crumpled creature in the bed before him, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. She nodded once, still half-trembling in terror.  
“Did something happen?” He asked, already fearing he knew the answer.  
She raised one hand and touched her chest, where the bandages covered her wound.  
“I see.” He murmured, wondering what exactly her story was. He'd only received a very brief explanation of the events surrounding her arrival, he had the feeling there was a lot more to it than what he'd been told.  
A silence settled comfortably within the room, neither figure daring to speak, until Aislin looked at Cullen once more, worry written across her face for what felt like the hundredth time that week.   
  
“Cullen… Are you afraid of me?” She asked, seemingly out of nowhere. His brow furrowed, not following her train of thought.  
“Of course not.” He readily replied, seeming to reassure the small girl as she settled back down into bed.  
“I'm glad… but I knew you'd say that. Knight's aren't afraid of anything.” She whispered, closing her eyes once more.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, Aislin had begun to heal, gathering enough strength to finally have blood taken for her Phylactery. It was only a day or so later that she was released from her private room to join the other Mages in their quarters. There was less privacy, but on the plus side, there was also less silence.  
The Circle was strict and had a no-tolerance-policy for rule-breaking. Aislin had only ever heard rumours about the consequences of misconduct, but they certainly weren't light. If anything, it felt as if Aislin had been released from a hospital into a prison. At least when she was at death's door, she didn't have to feel like a monster under lock and key of a watchful eye.  
The nights were the hardest part. Daylight hours were full of studying and learning and practicing her magic. That was something she could deal with, something that made her happy to be involved in.  
But the nights were awful. Downright dreadful.  
It felt like clockwork, the moment she closed her eyes to sleep, the memories of those woods would come rushing back all at once.  
She remembered her mother's grief, the quiet sobs, her crumpled figure in the doorway. Some nights, Aislin blamed her for what Papa had done. Other nights, she understood that her mother was a victim too.

One particular night, after a fit of bad dreams and restless sleep, Aislin slipped out of her bed and padded into the hallway, clad in pajama's and bare feet, looking for Cullen whom she'd knew would be on guard duty in her corridor that week.  
Peeking her head around a corner, she found him, still as a statue, back to a wall, surveying the hallway for any signs of trouble. He spotted her in an instant, a look of surprise passing his face, followed quickly with subtle disapproval.  
“You can't wander the halls at night, Aislin. You have to go to sleep.” He informed her, walking the few feet it took to reach her and kneeling down on one knee until he was level with the shorter girl.  
“I'm lonely when I try to sleep.” Her voice was soft, not from weariness of the body, but weariness of the mind. As if she'd lost all will to stand, she plopped down in the hallway right there next to him, leaning against the wall at his side.  
“I promise not to go anywhere. You can see me right here, can't you, Cullen?” She pleaded quietly, fighting to keep her eyes open for fear the nightmares would rush back the second she closed them.  
As if sensing her discomfort, the blonde man sighed in acceptance.  
“Very well. But this will not become habit!” He warned before quietly adding on,  
“And you cannot call me Cullen in front of the other Templars!” He scolded her softly, his voice much gentler than one might expect for a chiding.  
“But Rutherford is a terrible name for a knight. I don't know why you picked it.” She chirped, smirking up at him playfully.  
“I didn't pick—Aislin, I am not a knight!” He frowned, would she ever grow out of her childish fantasies?  
“Of course you are. Only knights wear armour. And we live in a Castle!” She protested, as if these were all very obvious signs of his status.  
“This isn't a castle, Aislin, it's a Circle. You know this. _I know_ that you know this because I've told you myself a half dozen times. Why must you insist on this fantasy of yours?” He groaned softly, running a hand through his hair before quietly muttering to himself, “Maker preserve me, this child will drive me to the ends of the earth before the night is through.”  
  
Silence fell between them for a moment before the child piped up again,  
“Cullen?” The blonde Templar frowned in reply,  
“I'm not answering to that. You know you're not allowed.” He said, stiffly, glancing about the halls to be certain no one had heard, even though he knew there shouldn't be another Templar in sight until his shift ended.  
“But no one is around now, Cullen.” She protested, softly. She wasn't being flippant, she was merely stating fact.  
“I shall break you of this habit. I refuse to speak with you until you address me properly.” He insisted, his gaze no longer lingering on her, but instead staring straight ahead, as if he intended to ignore her very existence.  
“But you're speaking to me now.” She teased, trying to lighten the mood. Her friend did not respond.  
The small redheaded girl sat still for a moment, wondering how long he would ignore her and whether or not it was worth the trouble.  
“Rutherford?” She said, at last, as a small smile graced his lips.  
“Yes, Aislin?” He turned to face her, pleased that she'd been easier to sway than he'd expected.  
“Rutherford's a silly name for a Knight.” She proclaimed and stood, darting out of his sight before the Templar could finish scolding her.

In the wee hours of the morning, the small girl would tip-toe back, finding her Templar friend exactly where she'd left him, pacing the halls outside her dormitory, as if in search of an unseen threat.  
“Back again, are you?” He risked a smile, remembering exactly how their prior encounter had ended.  
“Are you angry with me?” She asked softly, wondering if he would send her back to bed for the prior teasing she'd done.  
“No. Do you want me to be?” He raised an eyebrow in question.  
“No.” She shook her head, sitting down beside him, quiet as a mouse.  
Silence built between them for a while, broken only when the redheaded girl began to cry softly, her entire frame shaking with the effort to muffle her own sounds, her chest squeezing so tightly that she feared her very own heart would pop from the pressure.  
“Bad dreams.” It was a statement more than a question, he'd seen this before. Cullen knelt down beside her, a look of worry on his face as he rested a hand on her shoulder. The fear of being found mingling with the concern for the crying child at his feet ran rampant inside of him.  
“They don't go away.” She whimpered, wiping her face with the back of her right hand, streaking wet tears across her cheek diagonally.  
“They will.” He reassured her, squeezing her shoulder gently.  
“Do you promise?” She whispered, looking up at him with wet eyes and a trembling lower lip. His heart wrenched at the sight.  
“I promise.” He insisted, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb, while wondering if the Maker would forgive him for staring a child in the eyes and whispering her lies.


	5. Chapter 5

A year had fled by before the nightmares decreased in frequency. They were never gone, not truly. But some nights were better than others. Some nights she didn't wake up screaming, soaked in sweat, a weak heart pounding in distress, crying for a name she couldn't dare call aloud. Some nights, she only woke up in fear.  
And some nights, she didn't dream at all. It was as close to a peaceful rest as she'd ever hope to find.  
On the eve of her birthday, Aislin didn't dream at all. She woke up her birthday morning in a cold sweat, heart pounding, gasping for breath, but with no memory of the nights events. No bad thoughts to haunt her through the day. No daggers or the demons that wield them to linger in the back of her mind.  
She considered it a birthday gift. She also considered the Maker to have a cruel sense of humor, but that was beside the point.  
  
The day dragged on, all movement was a blur, one study to the next, never making eye contact with the other Templars, never carrying on much conversation with her peers, never daring to exist for fear of reprisal for it.  
Happy Birthday, try not to live too loudly.  
Dinner came and went uneventfully. She'd wondered if there might be a cake, but knew better. No cakes, no parties, no presents. A birthdate was little more than a note in a file in an office somewhere. Just another way to keep track of how long she had left until her Harrowing.  
Placing her dinner tray down beside a soapy sink in the kitchens, Aislin was at least grateful that she had the night off from dish duty. It would be a shame to be stuck scrubbing pots on her birthday.  
Behind her, a familiar voice rang out, “Have you finished your meal?”  
Aislin turned to find Cullen standing before her. This was unusual behavior. Cullen never dared approach Aislin in a public place. It was too dangerous. Better to pretend not to know each-other at all than risk giving anyone the wrong impression.  
  
“I have finished, yes.” She agreed quietly, trying not to look like a deer caught in a hunters sight. Her eyes were wide and afraid, as if silently pleading 'what are you doing?' at him.  
“I see. Walk with me a moment, Aislin.” He spoke stiffly, formal and indifferent. She didn't like this Cullen. She didn't like Templar Rutherford. She wanted to run.  
“Where are we going?” She inquired quietly, feeling her hands begin to shake.  
“The library.” He replied, matter-of-fact. “Because you forgot something there.” He added, “Remember how you asked me to escort you earlier? Can't have Mages wandering the halls whenever they please.” He insisted with pleading eyes, thankful that no one was looking at them but exceptionally cautious in case anyone was listening.  
“I… did?” She looked confused and Cullen looked worried. Suddenly she realized what he was trying to do.  
“Oh! Yes, that's right! Yes! How silly of me. I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Rutherford. Please, lead the way.”  
“Maker preserve me.” He muttered under his breath, but the relief was obvious on his face. He cleared his throat, seeming to fall right back into his usual Templar Rutherford routine.  
“Of course. Follow.” He led the way out of the dining hall and down three flights of stairs, seeming to relax only when they were out of sight of anyone else.  
  
He didn't dare speak until they'd entered the library, relieved to find it empty of both Templars and Mages alike.  
“I had a feeling it would be safe here. I doubt anyone would care enough to follow us, even if they'd overheard. Besides, it wouldn't look very suspicious, since we're in a library and all...” He trailed off, seeming oddly vague in his statements.  
“I'm not quite sure I understand?” Aislin murmured nervously, feeling as if she'd missed something along the way.  
He cleared his throat and picked up a small object waiting on a nearby table. He held it between his hands, genuinely appearing nervous as he approached her.  
“I heard it was your birthday today. I have something for you. I'm sorry I couldn't wrap it. I didn't want anyone to find the scraps and start to ask questions.” He explained, holding out a small book with a silver and blue binding; a black silhouette of a dragon glossed over the front.  
He looked worried, but the small girl accepted the book quite happily, flicking through it a moment to glance at the pictures before clutching it to her chest and hugging it tightly. She beamed up at him with absolute delight, her smile warming his heart in a way he hadn't anticipated.  
“You got me a fairy tale book.” She grinned like she'd just gotten away with something positively awful.  
“Yes, yes I did.” He agreed, knowing exactly what he was feeding into.  
“Because you're a k--”  
“ _Templar_. In a _Circle_.” He corrected her before she could even begin.  
She didn't fight back, still smirking up at him with joy in her eyes.  
He smiled in return, but in a heartbeat that smile had softened into something sad, and then became solemn. He knelt down until he was level with her, looking into her eyes to be certain it was clear how serious he was.  
  
“Aislin. I hate to ruin the moment but… you musn't tell anyone you received this from me. You understand why, don't you?”  
“Yes.” She nodded in acknowledgment. A year here had shaped her perspective by now. She knew that what she had with Cullen was special, and by default, forbidden. It was dangerous for the both of them should anyone else discover it.  
“Good. Please keep it hidden as best you can. Should anyone find it, you can say it was borrowed from the library and I'll vouch for you. I stamped the back cover with one of the library markers, so our story will hold some weight.” He reached for the book, turning it over to reveal the ink marking on the last page. It looked just like any other library book might, though the ink appeared fresher than most.  
“Your book may end up confiscated if someone unpleasant discovers it and realizes it isn't Circle-approved material. You need to keep this hidden well. Can you do that?”  
“Yes. I'll keep it safe. Always.” She promised, hugging the book once more, cherishing the only thing she'd ever owned since arriving at the Circle.  
“Good.” He repeated himself, one hand ruffling her hair affectionately as he let out a sigh. This was dangerous and unexpected of him, but he'd grown quite fond of the girl.  
“Cullen?” She whispered, despite their being the only ones in the room.  
“Yes?” He glanced at her with curiosity, deciding against the instinct to scold her for not calling him Rutherford, just this once.  
“Can I hug you?”  
He didn't reply at first. Instead, he looked around nervously. There was no one in sight. Everyone was at dinner, even the tranquil had left their posts. If they were going to completely forgo the rules, now was as good a time as any.  
“Come here.” He knelt down until he was on both knees, ushering her in close and wrapping her in the tightest hug she'd felt in years. Even with his bulky armor between them, he was somehow warm and inviting.  
One hand patting her hair, he whispered, “This too, has to be--”  
“A secret.” She whispered, finishing his sentence for him “I know, Cullen.” She reassured him, understanding more with every passing day the risk their friendship had born them.  
He breathed a sigh of relief and let her go, standing up and clearing his throat with another nervous glance around. Still no one in sight. Thank the Maker.  
“We should get back before anyone starts to wonder.”  
“Right.” She agreed, hiding the small book in the side pocket of her robes.


	6. Chapter 6

As time dragged on, the stolen moments Aislin spent with Cullen seemed to grow in frequency. Her hallway visits had become a nightly affair. It seemed that she could hardly sleep without talking to Cullen for a while. Even when his rounds stationed him somewhere else, he'd come check on her during his breaks and wish her a goodnight.  
Aislin had never been so lucky to have a brother of her own, but if she had, she was certain that Cullen is what he would have been like.  
Everything seemed peaceful when he was around. She felt happy looking up to Cullen. For the first time in her life, she wasn't angry or afraid. She was content.

Many more years had passed, and soon enough Aislin couldn't count all the secrets she'd shared with Cullen. He was her confidante. Her role model. Her beacon of light in the darkness. Everything felt right, as long as he was near. No matter how bad things got, no matter what happened, Cullen was there, in the Circle, by her side.  
The Circle, for better or worse, was her home.

And then… the Circle fell.  
There was an explosion.  
Everything was chaos.  
Blood, screaming, fire. What's a Rite of Annulment? Why were the Templars attacking everyone? Cullen! Where was Cullen?! What was happening? Why was everyone running? Where was she supposed to go?

In the days that followed, the body count grew to horrifying numbers.  
People she'd seen every day in the Circle, Mages and Templars alike, lay lifeless in a pool of their own blood.  
Others were not so lucky. How many hands did she hold as the life fled their eyes? As she begged them to hold on, as she cast healing spell after healing spell, to no avail, until their corpse was cold to the touch? How many more?  
She didn't understand. Why was this happening? The Circle was her home! Cullen… why was Cullen gone? Why was everyone gone?  
She never did get all the answers to the questions she sought after.  
Instead, she was shuffled from Circle to Circle. Each one worse than the last. Each one fighting amongst themselves, slowly coming undone from the inside out. Each one was lonely and cold and isolating…  
And none of them had Cullen.  
In the years succeeding what would be known as the Kirkwall Rebellion, Aislin eventually set out on her own. With the Circle of Magi falling apart under its own weight and the world in chaos with Rifts torn across the sky, there was no one to even stop her when she stood up and walked out an unbarred door into the heart of Ferelden.

  
She'd heard of the Inquisition before, just enough times in passing to be certain it was real. If the rumors were true, the Inquisitor had closed the breach in the sky. The Inquisitor had saved so many lives, had saved the world, even. The Inquisitor was like all of the heros in Aislin's fairytale book.  
But that wasn't what changed her mind.  
Rumor had it that the commander of their army was a man who's name she'd heard before. A man she would never forget for the rest of her life. A former Templar at Kirkwall Circle with blonde hair and a scar on his lip.  
There was no mistaking it: Cullen Rutherford was a member of the Inquisition. Saving the world, one battle plan at a time.  
If the Inquisition was where Cullen deemed fit to place his allegiance, then it was where Aislin would place hers too. She hadn't felt like she knew what a home was since the Circle fell, since Cullen left. Perhaps the Inquisition would change that.


End file.
